


Killing Floor Epilogue

by BabysNotaProp (SuzetteB)



Series: Killing Floor Short Stories [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Talks About Feelings, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean Winchester x You - Freeform, Dean x Reader, Dean x You - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Dorks in Love, Emotionally Repressed, Epilogue, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You, Idiots in Love, Killing Floor fic, Love Confessions, No Sex, No Smut, Protective Dean Winchester, Saving People Hunting Things, Slow Romance, Supernatural Hunters, The Family Business, Wendigo, after killing floor, dean winchester x reader - Freeform, dean winchester x y/n - Freeform, dean x y/n - Freeform, finally saying I love you, killing floor, post-killing floor, reader is a badass, the fluff you're looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzetteB/pseuds/BabysNotaProp
Summary: I ended Killing Floor without Dean and the reader saying the big three words. By the end of the fic, it's obvious that they love each other, but a love confession didn't fit the story flow. So here is an Epilogue to tie up that loose end:)





	Killing Floor Epilogue

Epilogue  
Post-Killing Floor

“Alright, Y/N, no setting birds nests on fire this time, got it?” Dean teased you above the sound of kerosene blow torches echoing through the damp, sunless tunnel.

“Come back when you can throw as far as me, then we’ll talk,” you retorted, leading the way toward the wendigo’s den. It was just through this tunnel and about a half mile of swamp. 

The end of the tunnel couldn’t possibly come soon enough with the way Dean was being especially insufferable tonight. He was giving you a break from testing your limit of being able to make stressful, split-second, life or death decisions and had instead opted to fill you with incessant banter and sarcasm. You weren’t even sure which was worse anymore. Even so, there was an underlying amiability in his tone that just barely kept you from snapping, and you wondered if he was doing it on purpose just to see how much your patience could take. The two of you had been quiet for about two minutes. 

Dean’s arm brushed yours as he came up beside you. “I love you,” he murmured into your ear.

You stopped in your tracks, shock coming over your fire-illuminated face. Dean stepped in front of you and looked into your eyes, which had widened since he said the words. You realized your mouth was hanging open, so you swallowed and bit your lip in preparation for your reply.

He had really just chosen this moment to tell you he loved you. And wasn’t that just a Dean thing to do? Not during a casual walk in the woods surrounding the bunker. Not in the throes of legs tangled under the sheets and fingers wrapped in each other’s hair. Not during breakfast, still tired enough to blurt out things before the brain could catch up. No, not during any of those. You were in the middle of a slimy hole, in the middle of the woods, chasing a cannibalistic monster with blow torches. And it was perfect.

Your lips curled into a smile. Response on your lips, you opened your mouth to take a breath and --

A blood-curdling roar vibrated through the tunnel, jolting your attention away from each other and towards the wendigo’s den. Both of you pointed your lit canisters toward the sound, taking a slight step back. The sickening cry rang out again, this time closer. He could sense someone near his space, and it smelled a lot like dinner.

“Use your flashlight,” you ordered, turning off your torch, “he’ll just run away if he sees we have fire. When we get close enough, I’ll slip around him and we’ll have him surrounded.” Dean nodded and together, you bolted toward the screeching monster with nothing to light your way but two tiny streams of white light. Soon you heard the dull pang of his heavy footsteps on the tunnel floor, and you knew you were close. Your heart was racing as you replayed your plan over and over of slipping under his legs and lighting him up from behind while Dean would take him head-on.

Too soon for comfort, your eyes beheld the evil thing that had been snatching lost hikers right off the trails. It was pale, hairless, with empty, regretless eyes, its senses only knowing hunger and the warmth of human blood trailing down its jaw. Clicking your flashlight off, you sprinted toward the wendigo, which had spread its legs enough for you to slide under. It hissed as the light of Dean’s blow torch flooded the immediate area with a steady stream of hot blue that flickered into orange flames. Right before you clear the other side of the creature’s legs, five long, bony fingers wrap around you and lift you to meet his face.

“Hey asshat, claws off!” Dean bellowed from below, which the wendigo ignored. Instead, he screeched in your face, spraying stale, flesh-laden spit onto you.

You drew your pistol from the concealed holster in your jeans and emptied a round into the palm that held you. “Yeah Pasty, you heard him. I’m a fucking lady, hands off!” He yelped in pain, more spit hitting your face, then dropped you to attend his sore hand. Fire was the only thing that could seriously hurt him and you knew the pain you inflicted would be short lived, so you scrambled back to your feet and pointed the torch at his back.

The flaming orange light from his other side flickered out. “Uh, Dean?” you called out above the roaring monster, unable to see him clearly since the wendigo was blocking your view and the only current light in the tunnel was your fire torch.

“Fucking thing’s empty!” he shouted back.

“No, it’s not, I checked the levels this morning. It must have a blockage.” The creature turned towards you once again and towered over you, swinging at you but trying to avoid the fire, which you were using to shield yourself.

“How the hell do you clear a kerosene cylinder blockage?”

“Like this,” you drew your pistol with your free hand, still swinging your torch to meet the monster’s erratic thrashes. “Throw your blow torch under the wendigo!” You hear the loud clank of metal on concrete and a slight splash. “Shine your flashlight on it, I’ve got one shot at this!”

Between arms flailing around you, you sneak peaks to see what exactly you’re aiming at. Sure enough, a tiny stream of light outlines the silhouette of a blow torch canister right between a fourteen feet tall cannibal demon thing’s legs. One shot, you tell yourself over and over. Bullets ricochet off of concrete; you miss and it would hit the cylindrical walls repeatedly until it hit either you or Dean. Just when your sights are aligned, you’ve been thrown into the air and your shoulder crunches against the concrete with stark force, pushing the air out of your lungs and sending you tumbling onto the wet tunnel floor.

The wendigo takes a step towards you, and you know you _absolutely must _take the shot before he comes any closer. Seeing double, you stabilize your pistol in your weak hand, since your strong side is the one that got crushed, alternate between closing your left and right eye, aligning your sights until you’ve found that sweet spot with both eyes open, exhale, then squeeze the trigger. You hear the welcomed sound of metal piercing metal, as well as see the kerosene oozing out in the faint light. Rolling over screaming as you feel your shoulder shattering beneath your own weight, you toss your flaming torch next to the leaking cylinder. The gas floating on top of the tunnel water catches fire, which engulfs the unsuspecting wendigo in flames.__

__In the midst of the smell of burning flesh and the monster’s last roars, Dean sloshes over to you and slings you over his shoulder, all the while your pained screams echo into the tunnel. You cry out even louder when he starts running, each stride shoving your shoulder bones more and more out of place. Tears are streaming down your face, but you can make out the glow of the lit oil flow rapidly gaining on Dean as he rushes you out. The last thing you remember is feeling such throbbing pain between your clavicle and elbow that you could throw up and pass out at the same time, and the thin orange line of ignited kerosene licking at Dean’s ankles._ _

__\---------------------_ _

__Beep. Pause. Beep. Pause. Beep._ _

__You open your eyes in a white room, an IV in your arm, and some crappy soap opera on the small, outdated tv. There are monitors around you, a bag of something you hope is mostly morphine above you, and a pair of green eyes beside you. You try and shift in your hospital bed, but a sharp pain shoots across your collarbone and you abort mission._ _

__“Morning, beautiful,” Dean greeted you with a sly smile. “You gave me quite a scare back there. You just got out of surgery for,” he paused to bring the clipboard closer, “clavicle fracture, scapula -- or, shoulder blade, for us who don’t speak hospital -- split in two, and broken olecranon visibly protruding from under skin.” He hung the clipboard back on the foot of your bed. “Ouch, sweetheart.”_ _

__Speaking meant moving your jaw, which was directly connected to your broken clavicle, so you decided to just smile weakly. High off adrenaline, it was hard to feel the full impact of your body being slammed into concrete by a stupidly strong cannibalistic monster, but you sure were feeling it now. You glanced up at the bag hanging above you, watching the drips slowly seeping into your IV. Dean leaned forward and tweaked at the tube, loosening the flow by a hair, giving you instant relief. You huffed through your nose as the pain began to subside._ _

__“Solid work back there,” he complimented once he was sure the morphine was at the right level for your injuries. “Now I’m not the suing type, but if that damn blow torch wouldn’t have clogged up, you wouldn’t be --”_ _

__“Dean,” you spoke using as few muscles as possible. The movements didn’t hurt, so you decided to be bolder with your next words. His eyes met yours and he dropped the subject once he realized you were finally talking for the first time since you passed out in the tunnel._ _

__“Yeah baby?” he whispered as he leaned in, holding your hand gingerly, careful not to pull your arm in any way._ _

__“I love you too,” you said softly, a smile inching across your tired face._ _

__Dean was beaming. He leaned over to kiss you softly. “Now that,” he sighed brightly, “is the best news I’ve heard all day.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading my fanfics, shorts, and drabbles! Follow me on Tumblr at deans-jiggly-pudding to cry about Supernatural with me!


End file.
